


O Night Divine

by Kim Gasper (mickeym)



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: First Time, Holiday, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-12-26
Updated: 1998-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:52:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/Kim%20Gasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas brings a mutual gift and a different sort of celebration for Mac and Methos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Night Divine

 "Merry Christmas, Joe; Merry Christmas, Stephanie." MacLeod called the final farewell before closing the door firmly against the draft. Behind him came the rustle and scratch of cloth moving against cloth as his last guest shifted his position on the couch. "You want another?" He gestured toward the near-empty bottle in Methos' hand as he turned around. 

"Yeah--no. D'you have anything more--festive?" A quirk of one dark brow brought a smile to MacLeod's face; it was almost challenging, that quirk. 

"Let me see what I have," he offered, amusement coloring his voice. The low chuckle that greeted him broadened his smile.  

"None of the vile concoction you were trying to pass off earlier as eggnog, MacLeod," the older Immortal warned. "Even I have my limits." 

_//What sort of limits do you have, Methos? And would you be able to consider me within them?//_ "You're joking." Highlander and ancient Immortal locked gazes for a moment, then Duncan grinned. "No, no more eggnog. And it wasn't vile, it was--unique." 

Methos snorted. "'Unique' is a description one uses for something such as a fine wine, a book of rare poetry; perhaps a piece of artwork. I don't think that eggnog falls within those categories." 

"Here, maybe this will." Duncan handed the older man a snifter of amber liquid, smiling when Methos passed it under his nose several times, breathing deeply. 

"Ahhh--yes, this qualifies." He took a swallow, and Mac shivered lightly, watching the fine features play out their pleasure at the taste. "Very nice. What is it, 1700?" 

"Close." The Highlander nudged one long leg with his knee, then sat down in the space left when Methos shifted. "1650." 

His guest smiled, a lazy smile that made Duncan's stomach tighten and beads of sweat dot his forehead as if the sun had suddenly burst out and shone into the room. The play of muscles under cloth caught MacLeod's eye when Methos shrugged. "So what's a decade or five?" 

"A lot, to brandy." Methos nodded agreement and lifted his glass toward Duncan in a silent toast. Mac repeated the gesture, then leaned back to savor the fullness of the flavor as it burst on his tongue and traveled through him. Nothing else was said for a time; the only noises in the loft were the soft sighs of the wind picking up outside, the slow, steady breathing of the two men, and the low sound of Christmas music from the stereo. It was an easy, comfortable near-silence. 

MacLeod sipped his drink, watching Methos out of the corner of his eye. He'd been aware for a while of the growing attraction--the emotions--he had for the other man; he'd fought against it for a long time before admitting defeat and just going with it. _//Attraction? Or something deeper, something needing roots, and care and attention…something needing room to grow? Yes, likely. But how…how to find out if he might feel the same way?//_

There wasn't total ambivalence on Methos' part; he knew that much. But what if it was just friendship that the older Immortal felt for him? Friendship, with the occasional, mild flirtation thrown in? Or maybe relief at not having to be constantly on guard, nor worry about if his head was safe with Mac. He would know it was. Those things, those feelings, could easily be misconstrued, seen to be more than they were. He'd been guarding himself for a while now--not wanting to seem needy, or that he was pushing for more. He wanted Methos to be comfortable with him, not to feel anything was expected of him. 

_//What if he wants it too, but is holding back for the same reasons you are?//_ Damned inner voice. Duncan sighed and shifted, trying not to be pulled in by the sight of the lean, rangy length sitting next to him. 

'O Holy Night' sounded through the room, pulling Duncan's attention away from his thoughts of Methos and focusing it elsewhere. "Were you there?" 

Methos tipped his head forward and opened his eyes; the light reflected back at Duncan, bathing him in a warm hazel glow remarkably similar to the effect the brandy was having on him. "Was I where, Mac?" 

"Were you at the birth. Jesus' birth." MacLeod tilted his own head down, peering at his glass. Had he had so much tonight that his thoughts were getting muddled? Where'd this come from? Judging from the eyebrow cocked at him, Methos was wondering the same. 

"I was--close by," the older man began cautiously. "Why?" 

Heavy shoulders shrugged. "I was wonderin', if it was like all the songs say it was." 

"What, beautiful and holy and serene and all that?" Amusement oozed through the words, and Duncan felt another warmth, different from the brandy, move through him as hazel eyes turned into warm amber, watching him. He nodded, and Methos shrugged. "Depends, I suppose, on your interpretation of beautiful and holy and serene." There was a pause that grew into silence, and Duncan watched his friend, trying to see inside, wondering what made this man so much more, that he'd want him so badly. It was like an ache, some days. He started in surprise when Methos' voice rolled over him, deep and resonant. "Tell me your interpretation, MacLeod." 

So many images rolled over him, burned through him. He let his eyes wander over the ancient form beside him, wondering if he dared name 'Methos'. "Beautiful," he began, his voice a bit hoarse, "is the Scottish coastline. It's raw, and rough, but so vibrant and full of life, even when it appears barren. It's verra bonnie." His breath caught in his throat at the thought of his homeland, and he heard the catch in his words. "Holy…the feeling that rushes through you when you can stand still and feel the wind move around you; when you can look up and see the light from the sun glinting off the clouds, catching on raindrops still in the air. It,s a feeling of life, and alive. It's the rush of sensation when death is cheated." His voice was deeper, he thought, full of emotion. Methos was staring at him, reflecting his own feelings back at him. 

"And…serene--?" Methos' voice was husky, thick. Mac swallowed and shifted a fraction closer.  

"Serene is--the feeling in your body after you've loved, and been loved. Sated, comfortable, heavy. Warm, and safe, languid but full of energy. Like the vibration you feel through you when metal strikes metal. Jarring at first, but after, you feel centered and at peace." 

"Have you loved like that, MacLeod?" Methos moved closer, and Duncan shifted to meet him, his leg brushing against warmth. "Loved and been loved, left sated…serene? Loved so purely, so completely, that that in itself was a prayer…something holy?" 

"I--loved Tessa--that way…but never...never another immortal." It was on the tip of his tongue, and the question blurted out before he could stop it. "Have you?" 

Methos cocked an eyebrow again, then gave that tiny, challenging smile that melted into something--else. Something dark and rich, almost forbidden. "Just once." The words might have cut him had Methos not touched him then, long fingers cupping themselves around his own, grasping him loosely. Mac raised his eyes to meet Methos' and what he saw in there made him tighten his hold on the clasping fingers. 

"Who?" he asked roughly, fingers flexing shut. His answer was a long look, something smoldering hot, but also enough to send chills slithering down his spine. Full sunshine, total eclipse; all things and nothing in that penetrating gaze. A covenant exchanged with nothing said. MacLeod squeezed the warm hand within his tighter, then shook it gently. "_Who_," he demanded, his voice thick and hoarse. 

"You know that answer to that, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." Methos' right hand came up and a single finger traced over one of Mac's cheekbones; a cool touch that burned him to the core, turning his bones into molten lava. 

"Aye?" It was more a gasp than a word, but he couldn't seem to draw enough oxygen into his lungs to speak properly. Was this really happening? How? Why? Why _now_? The radio was still playing, the chorus singing "O night divine" He was inclined to agree with them.

"Aye." A gentle mockery, easy teasing. Nothing they hadn't engaged in countless times before tonight, but never with the overtones this had. With the _feelings_ that were arcing around them. 

"Tell me," Duncan begged softly, his eyes meeting Methos' and doing their own pleading. "Please. I need to hear it, Methos." 

"What if I showed you, instead?" The words were light, but the emotions behind them--the unspoken--were heavy, intense. 

A single finger stroked over his mouth. Duncan pursed his lips and kissed the tip gently, then opened his mouth and caught the tip with his teeth, raking them over the sensitive pad. He smiled when Methos' heavier breath turned to a gasp. 

"Show me, yes but tell me, too." MacLeod frowned, not sure why it was so important that he hear the words, except that it _was_. _//Is he afraid, then? That the feelings aren't returned? I need him to know that this goes deeper than an 'I love you', stretches longer than time can span.//_ He licked the finger still hovering over his mouth, then whispered, "I'll go first--" 

"Mac," Methos' breath caressed his face, warm and easy as a spring day; fragrant with the brandy he'd drunk earlier. A tempting mouth settled right above his and more gentle breezes touched MacLeod as the words drifted over him. "_You_, MacLeod." 

It was like a sucker punch. No, much more intense than that. Like thunderbolts, like lightening jags; like a quickening rushing through him, leaving him open and vulnerable and shuddering with need. He'd known, from the emotions simmering in Methos' eyes, but hearing…hearing it was _him…_the words left him breathless, unable to respond. 

The older Immortal's eyes darkened, hazel and amber turning to something more like raw honey, flecked with specks of darker gold--almost like sunspots. The comparison sent a shiver chasing down Mac's spine, wondering if he would survive this. The heat generated in those eyes looked positively lethal. And he couldn't wait to be bathed in it. "You—too, Methos--" 

He just had time to get the final word out, to speak the name that meant so much to him, before Methos' mouth covered his. The warmth of that touch sent pleasure spiking outward, a sensation of _completeness_ moving through him and heating him gently like the fine, aged brandy had just a bit before. _//It's just a kiss just one kiss, one touch of his mouth to mine//_ But the feeling of spontaneous combustion was strong, growing stronger, and MacLeod wanted it stronger still. Wanted the feeling to grow, increase, consume him. He groaned softly and opened his mouth to Methos, his body jerking with desire when the older man followed his invitation by licking the outside of his lips before deepening the kiss, his tongue weaving an intoxicating pattern through Mac's mouth.  

_//Pleaseohgod, please//_ It was nearly suffocating, the heat that was beginning to build within him. Like hot, mulled wine coursing through his veins in place of blood. He moaned again, his cock beginning to react, to fill, the sensations increasing exponentially when he heard a soft moan in answer from Methos. 

"More," he whispered hoarsely against the mouth that was trying to devour him. He groaned when Methos pulled back from him, not far, but any distance felt like forever. MacLeod raised his hands shakily to hold onto the other man's shoulders, his fingers biting into the cloth beneath them. "Please, Methos--" 

A ragged groan fell from wet lips, and Methos shuddered visibly as he pulled back a bit further. He shifted, ghosting his lips up over Mac's cheek, a barely-there sensation. Warm breath skated along hot skin, and Duncan cried out when unseen teeth tugged his earlobe. He tightened his fingers and twisted his head, exposing the vulnerable side of his neck, begging wordlessly. A low, muffled whimper rose from him when his lover rested his mouth flush against him, licking and sucking. Up, upMethos traced a slow, torturous path with his mouth until he reached Mac's ear. 

"Tell me--what you want," he breathed into the delicate curve. "Tell me--what you _need_." 

"Oh God" the words were a benediction, aimed at the man worshipping with his mouth. Mac slid his hands from Methos' shoulders to the thick, dark hair curling about the nape of his neck. "You, Methos…need _you--_" 

"Yes." It was whispered in his ear; accompanied by a series of licks that wet the curves and sent gooseflesh across his skin when Methos blew a gentle breath against him. "Want you, MacLeod." More licking, following the curve of muscle down his neck. "Need you." Methos grasped the long hair trailing down Duncan's back and tilted his head back, baring the pulse point at the base of the vulnerable flesh. He flashed Duncan a quick, hot look, then buried his face against the hot flesh, sucking gently at first, then harder, as if trying to taste MacLeod's soul.  

"Yeah, God, Methos--" Duncan shivered, his fingers tightening in Methos' hair, holding his lover closer. Each movement of lips against skin set off new shivers, new goosebumps. He groaned and shifted himself backward, a low cry rending the air when Methos nipped hard at him before letting him fall back.  

He sprawled there, wantonly opening his legs and arching his back, letting the older man look his fill. A heat like nothing he'd ever experienced filled him when Methos gave a low, dark chuckle and reached out to tug at his shirt. Another tug, not so gentle, and the button gave way with a loud 'pop' sound. Duncan shivered as long, lean fingers stroked the dark hair now visible in the vee exposed by the shirt. Another pop, and a second button went flying, the fingers stroking lower.  

"You're killing me," he said huskily. His body ached almost unbearably. 

"You can't die from this," was the low reply, and MacLeod's eyes widened at the slight tremble he heard in the rich, dark tones. A hot smile spread over Methos' face when he raised his head to meet Duncan's eyes. "But I can make you wish you could." 

Duncan pushed his lover's hands away and grasped the sides of the shirt, rending it open himself. He pulled the halves fully apart, exposing his chest with hard, tight, aroused nipples, and a soft, dark trail of hair to draw attention to them. "You talk a good line, old man--let's see if you can put your money where your mouth is." 

Methos' eyes glinted at him. "A challenge, then," he said softly. "I enjoy challenges, Duncan." 

MacLeod wasn't sure if it was actually hearing Methos say his given name in that husky tone, or the promising gleam in his eyes, or the heat that was also present there. A combination of all of the above? He shuddered again and reached for Methos, pulling the other man down hard against him, his mouth seeking the heat and moistness he'd tasted before. 

They melded together, tongues stroking and teasing, hands whispering against the other's skin. Duncan buried his hands beneath the navy blue Henley that Methos was wearing, bunching it up as he stroked the long, smooth back that rippled beneath his touch. He let his hands slide up and down, then down further, skimming along the denim-covered ass that was flexing as Methos moved against him. "Beautiful," he whispered, when his mouth was achingly free for a moment. "My interpretation," he continued, letting his lips touch the warm throat so temptingly close. He closed his mouth around the prominent Adam's apple, biting down gently when Methos' cry broke. "Something so pure…so incredible…holy--" He sucked, his tongue caressing gently.  

"Did I say you can't die from this?" The timbre of Methos' voice was different; darker, fuller, strained and trembling. Mac smiled against his lover's throat, nipping once before pulling back. He let his head fall against the cushion beneath him, then smiled up with hot eyes. 

"You did. Wanna take it back?" He slid one hand up under the front of Methos' shirt, fingers stroking through the soft wisps of hair 'til he found one tight nubbin. The older man jerked when Mac pinched lightly, and swore under his breath. 

"I think I'm going to have to." Methos sat back on his heels in the space between the Highlander's legs, and pulled his shirt off over his head. He reached for Duncan's waistband, and undid the snap there, fingers straying to caress the throbbing length concealed behind tight denim. "Hiding a deadly weapon in here, MacLeod?" 

Mac arched into the gentle touch. "Could be." He groaned in frustration when Methos squeezed once, then shifted away from him. "Methos--for the love of God, _please--_" 

"Patience, Highlander. Good things come to those who wait." The old Immortal shifted back, glass of brandy in his hand. He dipped one finger in and swirled it through the amber liquid, then sucked the rich fluid off slowly, letting Mac get a good eyeful of the sensuousness of the act. MacLeod growled. 

"That's as may be, but I guarantee whoever said it didn't have a cocktease straddling him, and a cock so hard it was about to explode." He growled again when Methos dipped two fingers into the glass, then dribbled the brandy over his nipples.

"You don't know that." Methos grinned down at him, eyes hot and smile hotter. "They might've been doing the very thing we are." A low, dark chuckle sent vibrations buzzing through MacLeod, and he arched upward when Methos closed his mouth over the first nipple, sending burning shards of sensation rocketing through him.

It was almost painful, it felt so good. Exquisite pleasure brought by a man who obviously knew how to play another's body like a fine instrument. Briefly Mac considered there was probably very little the man kneeling over him _hadn't_ done, at some point in his long life, but those were thoughts for another time. For now, the sensations coursing through him were demanding all his attention. Methos nursed on one side, alternating sucking and licking at the tiny droplets of brandy that were winding their way down MacLeod's chest. He switched to the other side, painting the swollen, tight nipple with tiny cat licks that had Duncan arching upward over and over, swearing and pleading in Gaelic, French and English.  

"Please…yes…oh, yes…suck it, suck it, Methos, please--" MacLeod wove his fingers through soft, dark hair, tugging to keep Methos' mouth hard over him. "Don't stop, _God--_" He shuddered, a long, low growl turning into a keening cry when teeth nipped sharply at him, tugging on his nipple. Pleasure danced into pain, then back again, bathing him in a rosy, glowing heat that threatened to swallow him.

He moaned quietly when that wonderful, incredible, tormenting mouth left him, beginning a downward trail. The sudden sensation of something merely room-temperature raining down on him startled him out of his lust-induced fog, and Duncan blinked his eyes open in time to see Methos dribbling brandy down his chest and over his stomach. Droplets gathered in the dark hair scattered abundantly over him, and a small bit pooled in his navel. His mouth went dry at the thought of how that liquid would be removed, and he was shaking with anticipation even before Methos slowly lowered his head to lap at the drops leading down to his cock. 

"You taste good, MacLeod." The words were low, nearly a growl. Fire-hot arousal smoldered through them, and when Methos leaned back to watch Mac writhe, the younger man's eyes fastened onto the damp spot shining darkly over the tented fabric of Methos' jeans. 

"I'd like to taste you," he whispered hoarsely, thoughts of what his lover must taste like at full arousal sending his own spiking higher. 

"We can probably arrange that" Methos thrust a finger gently into Mac's navel and wiggled it around teasingly, then sucked it into his mouth and grinned. "Mmm. Brandy-flavored MacLeod, aged to perfection. Could be my favorite drink." 

"Drink _this_." Mac thrust his hips up, his cock pulsing against his pants.  

"I plan to." Methos fastened his mouth over MacLeod's navel and sucked hard, thrusting his tongue in and out quickly. The younger man shouted, his body surging. 

"DAMN, Methos!" Each word was nearly lost in the panting breaths he was trying to draw in. He groaned when long fingers stroked his cock lovingly, then gripped the sides of his fly and pulled. The buttons separated easily, and Methos shoved Mac's pants downward, letting the fully-erect, impossibly swollen cock surge upward. 

"Perfect," the older man muttered, inclining his head to take the tip of Mac's penis into his mouth. MacLeod shuddered and raised his hips, a low, whimpering sound rising from him. The sound increased in volume and strength, becoming a pleading moan when Methos slid his foreskin back and sucked, his tongue playing with the small slit in the center. Duncan groaned again, the pulsing in his cock increasing in tempo with each swirl of that talented tongue, each bit of suction from that incredible mouth. He cried out softly when Methos let him go, only to hover close, his breath warm against the sensitive tip of MacLeod's cock. "What do you need, Duncan?" 

The question was so quietly asked, Duncan nearly missed it. "I--You. I need _you_, Methos." He paused, licked his suddenly dry lips, and sent up a quick prayer. "Inside me." Was that his voice, so rough, so hoarse? So full of needa need to be complete, to be consumed, to be made whole. Just _need_. "Inside me, Methos. Now." 

"You don't need to ask again," Methos' voice was thick. He stood up and pulled his boots off, then undid his jeans, pushing them and boxers down over slim hips and well-defined thighs. MacLeod watched, his heart pounding, his blood boiling so fast and hot it sounded like a deafening roar in his ears.  

Without clothes, the ancient Immortal was beautiful--not a frail or fragile, feminine beauty, rather a rich, robust masculine beauty. Methos was long and lean, with the predatory grace of a wild animal. His chest was full and deep, sprinkled with dark hair, two deep-rose nipples standing high and tight, attesting to his arousal. A trim waist melted into slender hips, though his legs were well-muscled. A dark trail of hair led to a lush nest of curls which cradled a thick, erect cock and two swollen balls.

Mac's stomach tightened as he gave his lover a close look, sweeping from head to toe and back again. Like Mac's own, Methos' cock was engorged, his arousal high. The crown of that beautiful cock was visible where his foreskin had pulled back, and it was damp, moisture even now seeping from the small slit in the center. The Highlander groaned and sat up, shifting forward to take Methos in hand, running his tongue slowly across the fat, juicy head. At the older man's low groan, Mac lifted his head and licked his lips. 

"Fuck me, Methos. Come inside me I need to feel you." 

"Take your pants off." If eyes could burn any hotter, MacLeod would have incinerated on the spot. He stood up and pushed the clothing down, watching the fluid movements of his lover as Methos crossed the room. "D'you have any oil? Type doesn't matter." 

"Cooking oil and olive oil both, in the cupboard. Take your pick." Duncan cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that seemed permanently fixed there. His mouth was dry, his cock was wet. His entire body ached, throbbed, tingled. He closed his eyes and sat back down, his hand stroking lightly over his cock, seeking to assuage the ache, if just a bit. He opened his eyes when a low, dark chuckle rolled over him. 

"Having fun?"

"Not as much alone as earlier." While Duncan watched, Methos poured some of the olive oil into his palm and reached down to stroke it over his erection. MacLeod swallowed around the lump again, and reached out to wrap his hand around Methos', stroking in tandem. He shivered at the thought that he could feel the heat rising from Methos' cock. Heat seemed to be all around them, warming skin, pulling beads of sweat up from nowhere, sensitizing their bodies.

"Ah. Well, it's always more fun with two." Methos smiled, dark and hot. His eyes no longer resembled amber, nor even raw honey, so much as pure, molten gold. Hot and fiery, with darker spots within. "You called me a cocktease, Highlander. Shall we see what it feels like to be teased from the inside out?" Gold gleamed, watching him with an almost predatory awareness, and Mac shivered from the icy heat that seemed to grab him. "You know you want it, MacLeod just as we know I want to give it to you." Methos stroked his cock slowly, smoothing still more oil onto the heavy length. "I _need _you." His voice was a hot, harsh whisper, full of longing and unnamed desires. Or perhaps not unnamed so much as feared. Duncan nodded. 

"Let me--ride." He was stroking himself in time and rhythm to Methos, his own body so tight with need he felt like a bowstring. 

"God, _yes_." It was more of an expletive than an answer, and Duncan grinned when Methos' body jerked as he answered. The older man pulled his hand from his cock as if it had burned him, and upon reflection Duncan decided it was a possibility. It looked as if it would burn him upon entry. It was a burn he was looking forward to.

He shifted up to give Methos room to lie down, and settle back, then grinned hotly when the other man merely sat, settling himself so he was partially upright, his thighs spread open. "Come, Highlander. Show me what a cocktease _truly_ is." Methos stroked his hand once more up the thick length of his erection, and Duncan shuddered when a drop of clear fluid welled up to the tip.

"Aye, I will." Soft, so soft. But his voice seemed to resonate through the room nonetheless, mingling with the other sounds that were lingering. Soft cries of passion; louder cries of lust, moans of love and need and want. Duncan shivered, hearing their voices all around. He moved onto his knees, straddling Methos, and leaned backward. "Guide me…help me, Methos. Help me--lover." His voice was thick, and caught uncertainly on the last word, and his eyes closed. They flew open again when Methos touched his cheek, stroking gently. 

"Thee and me, MacLeod. Feel it…the heat between us, the emotion there. Lover." Molten gold, shining and shimmering to rival the sun met black eyes, as dark as midnight, as endless as forever, and MacLeod shivered when Methos' hands reach down and cupped his ass, spreading him wide. Methos' voice whispered over him and around him. "Ride, Highlander. Take me within you, Duncan…feel me."

Duncan's fingers closed over Methos' shoulders, his tenuous grip on his control slipping with his name falling off those lips again. He could feel the head of Methos' cock brushing against him, nudging his anus as it sought entry. Slick and hot, hard and pulsing, it was almost too much to bear on this most sensitive part of his body. He groaned and pushed, bearing down as Methos thrust upward gently, his body opening slowly for the wanted intruder. 

"Oh, God," the words out before he could stop them, a harsh groan of pain and pleasure mingled. _//It's been too long, a long time god, it hurts//_ He hadn't been penetrated in a long, long time; longer than he cared to think about. He wasn't sure why he was wanting it so badly now, except it felt right. He wanted to take Methos within him, hold him there forever. "It burns, Metho.s…burns so hot--" He was panting, unable to draw a deep breath for the fire holding him tight in its grasp. 

"Pleasure and pain, two sides of the same coin, Duncan." Long fingers reached to cup his head, stroking through his hair. "One easily becomes the other; hold still and let it fade, let it turn." He leaned and kissed Duncan's ear, then his neck, whispering quietly to him, gentling words, almost as if Duncan were a wild creature in need of taming. _//I feel pretty wild. It’s painful but not…feels good, even burning. Don't want it to stop, never end//_ Methos nudged upward, stopping when Mac's breathing turned harsh again. Bit by bit, with gentle nudges and slow thrusts inward, Mac's body swallowed Methos', until the older Immortal was fully seated within him.

"Sexy, so sexy, so hot," Methos' voice stroked him, even as his hand, still slick with oil, moved lightly over Duncan's cock. He'd lost some of his erection during the penetration, but now, with the thick column of flesh filling him and the slick, burning heat of Methos' palm, he felt his body shiver and grow hard under the teasing touches. He shifted experimentally, groaning when the cock within him shifted, forcing him wider open, then back again.

"Same coin," he agreed in a hoarse, halting voice, "but the sides are sometimes verra close, and sometimes not." Another experimental shift, and then another, slowly finding his rhythm. Soft moans fell from Methos' lips, and Duncan's stomach twisted at the look of pleasure spreading across the face before him. "I love you," he whispered harshly, his gut twisting tighter with his lover opened his eyes. Emotions normally kept locked tightly away shone out at him. 

Methos raised his hands and wound his fingers through the long, dark hair cascading over Duncan's shoulders. "It's hard for me," he said slowly, his voice tight. "Hard to say the words--. I _mean_ them," he tightened his grip on Mac's hair, slowly pulling the other man closer. "But it makes one vulnerable and I try not to be-- Fuck it." He growled the last words and pulled on the dark hair, bringing Duncan's face level with his, their lips nearly touching. "I love you," he groaned hoarsely. "Need you like I've needed no other, want you like nothing else I can remember. You complete me, Duncan MacLeod."

He took Duncan's mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue searing its way as it stroked and caressed, demanded and exhorted. A low growl of need worked its way out from deep in Duncan's chest, filling their mouths, and he moved himself faster on the cock impaling him, tightening and relaxing his body on the strokes. Methos' words burning his brain; Methos' cock filling and burning his body; Methos' hands tangled in his hair, holding them tightly together. He was trapped in a web of want and need, of lust and love, and didn't want to ever be free. He gripped strong shoulders with his own hands, shuddering when the first wave of hunger rushed over him, leaving him sputtering and drowning in its wake, with the second building rapidly.

"That's it, Highlander. Ride my cock, fuck yourself feel me in you, filling you, loving you." Methos mumbled the hot words in a whisper that seared through Mac's ears and into his soul. His lover tipped his head to one side and fastened his mouth on the tempting, vulnerable side of his neck, where his pulse beat. "Mine. All mine, forever, until time ends." 

Maybe it was the slick hand that had untangled from his hair and was stroking his cock again. Maybe it was the flesh inside of him putting claim to the words just spoken, laying claim to _him_. Maybe it was the words themselves. MacLeod didn't know; wasn't sure he wanted to. He was flying, his body one huge needy ache, his brain in overdrive and spin-out from the emotions and revelations of the last hour or so. He tightened his grip on Methos' shoulders and brought his mouth down hard, grinding, wanting to devour the older man, wanting to swallow him whole. He increased his speed, moving himself faster and faster, taking Methos in a bit further each time, wiggling so he could hit his prostate with each stroke.

"Yours, aye, and you're mine, Methos Thee and me, as y'said." He let go of the older man's mouth long enough to growl the words softly, watching the heat flare higher in his lover's eyes. "Forever." One last word, sealed with a burning kiss that left no oxygen for any other words, only for the fast, intense motions of sweat-slicked flesh against sweat-slicked flesh. 

His orgasm hit like a fireball, unleashing energy inside him with the intensity of a quickening, and he threw his head back and yelled his pleasure. Methos whispered in his ear, hot words that fueled the fire, as sweet and dark as chocolate. "Come for me, Duncan, come onto me, let me feel you." He groaned louder when Methos buried his face in Duncan's neck, biting and sucking as his own orgasm surged, spraying his heat inside MacLeod's still-spasming body. 

*******

 Afterward, they sprawled together in a tangle of limbs, lying as close together as possible as their bodies calmed and cooled. At one point, Duncan dozed, warmed and worn by the exercise and the emotions flowing between them. He rested his head on Methos' chest, eyes closing, wondering briefly how many times he'd dreamt something like this, only to wake and have it have been a dream. He considered pinching himself, but as he slid into sleep, he didn't want to chance it. It had been too good.

He woke to warm hands stroking over him, and a low, amused voice following the strokes. "You're not terribly good for my ego, y'know. If you were anyone else, I'd probably be very insulted."

Mac cracked one eye open, then squeezed it shut again. "Your ego's big enough to withstand a blow or two." He yawned and stretched, then wiggled when Methos pinned his arms above his head. "Methos--"

A warm mouth descended on his, tongue licking at his lips before probing between them. When he was breathless again, Methos released him, his smile warm but smug, and the gleam in his eyes several shades more of both. "Yes?"

"Never mind." He yawned again, then shifted, pulling his lover back down close to him. "You feel good, here. Like this."

"Mmm. You feel good too, MacLeod." A frown creased the ancient Immortal's face. "Maybe too good." 

"Is that possible?" 

"I don't know. I'd think notbut you never can tell." 

Duncan stroked his fingers over Methos' chest. "One day at a time, then. Forever doesn't have to be all at once. We can build it, moment by moment." 

Methos slanted him a glance that looked to be equal parts amusement and astonishment. "When did you get so smart?"

"I've been around a bit." He bit his lip to keep the grin from his face. 

"That so?"  

Methos still looked troubled, and Mac cupped his chin, turning his head. "That's so." He kissed the older man. "I love you. Nothing will change that. And we take as slow as we need, 'til we're both comfortable. This makes me nervous too, y'know." Duncan sighed with pleasure when Methos turned in his arms and drew him closer. "Ah, that's nice." 

"This is the best of it, MacLeod. Held close, no demands. The basic, primal need of _touch_ fulfilled." He nuzzled Duncan's neck for a moment, then kissed it and whispered, "one day at a time, Duncan. Slow, 'til we can go more quickly." A long pause filled the space around them, then the low, barely audible whisper rose, "and I love you, too." 

**Finis**


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